


small distraction

by malevon



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, jennie's affinity for dancing rubbed off on me, just some indulgent fluff tbh cause i havent written in a while
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 14:54:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16042742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malevon/pseuds/malevon
Summary: falling asleep at the wheel is bad luck. maryn needs a distraction.





	small distraction

Maryn was used to failure.

She didn’t like to admit that, but she had privately accepted it in the months it took to teach herself to sail, and not only that, sail _by herself_. She accepted it in the times that she went to pickpocket someone only for them to be sharper than they appeared, usually ending in her being threatened or having to run away from law enforcement. 

The hardest failures to accept were the ones where she thought she had a lead on her father’s location, only to come up empty, with her hands full of wasted time and wasted resources and her mind full of heavy thoughts.

At first, these failures angered her. She’d become reinvigorated, resolving herself to find another lead as soon as possible, but the years had worn her down. She was still intent on finding a new lead, of course, but her heart was sunken, and so were her eyes.

Maryn struggled to keep them open at the wheel, her mind racing and dragging at the same time. Her arms were crossed in the spokes, and her cheek rested against one of the handles—not the most comfortable position by far, but at this point, Maryn figured she could fall asleep anywhere. She was so tired. Months of tracking one report of seeing Murdoc Fulton on an old Rho port had taken them through Firsen, Taylvin, and finally Rhohan waters, all of which required a certain amount of both paperwork and charisma, not to mention months’ worth of food for two…

Only for it to come up completely baseless.

Maryn was tired.

“You know,” she heard a voice coming up the steps to the helm, and she didn’t even look up from her slumped position. “You told me once it’s bad luck to fall asleep at the wheel.”

“Fine then,” she said, her voice coming out a little bit snippier than she intended. “You steer. I’m not anchoring.”

Kharis made a noise that almost sounded like a laugh. “When you want your ship wrecked, let me know, and that’s the day I’ll steer.”

Maryn closed her eyes and felt one side of her mouth quirk up. “It’s nothing but open water for miles. You couldn’t possibly mess this up.”

“I’d find a way. Come on, let’s wake you up a bit.”

Maryn turned then, perking her head up and looking at her companion through bleary vision. “And what do you have in mind?”

“I don’t know. Anything to make sure we end up back in Vridel and not, I don’t know, anywhere else. Come on.” Kharis placed his hands on her shoulders and lead her away from the wheel against Maryn’s whine of disapproval. 

“Can’t I just sleep? Kalev isn’t that far of a trip—”

“You’re going up there?” he interrupted as they went back down the steps to the main deck.

“We’ll circle back to Vridel through the Isles. They’re not too bad this time of year,” Maryn resolved, and Kharis circled around her, trailing his hands from her shoulders down to her wrists, and she took his fingers in hers.

“You are insane, Fulton,” he said, a smile in his voice, and Maryn kept up with him as he pulled and pushed her along the deck, their feet setting into an unheard rhythm.

“Insane and very tired, Crowe,” she agreed around a small laugh as they both nearly stumbled when her foot caught on an uneven board.

Kharis sighed and let their banter dissipate, and Maryn, instead of letting her mind be clogged with thoughts of what to do when they’d port, how much food she’d have to buy and how much food she’d have to steal, if there’d be any of her enemies in Kalev she’d have to worry about, if there’d be any of _Kharis’_ enemies, instead of wondering if the world would ever let her see her father again—she focused instead on feeling of cold hands in hers, and keeping her footing as they danced on the swaying ship.

“You’ve improved,” she pointed out, grinning, and her voice came out soft.

“That so?”

“’Course.”

“Well,” Kharis scoffed. “It’s a lot easier when it’s not in a royal ballroom. Not all those people.”

As if to validate her praise, Kharis lead her outwards towards the center mast, raising his arm and twirling her around it, catching her hand on the other side. Maryn laughed raucously, nearly falling over had he not grabbed her. 

“We should attend another dance,” she suggests, breathing hard after laughing. Kharis balked in mock offense.

“ _Another?_ Should we go to one in Taylvin next time?”

“Maybe we should!”

It was Kharis’ turn to laugh then, though his was much subtler than Maryn’s uproarious one. She reached an arm above him and twirled him back around the center mast, her grip on his wrist nearly slipping when she tried to catch him, and she laughed again. 

“Your hands are too cold; do you know that?”

Kharis lifted their hands in between them to look at his in the dim light of the lanterns hanging from the masts. “ _No_ , really?” he gasped, and suddenly took his fingers from hers and pressed his palms to her cheeks. Maryn yelped, falling backwards and laughing, and her giggles matched with Kharis’ as he advanced on her again, his palms outstretched threateningly.

“I’m awake now, I promise!” she insisted between breaths, her arms crossed in front of her face defensively. 

“Are you?” he challenged.

“Yes, yes! Let me get back to the wheel before we wreck—”

“But Maryn, you can’t _possibly_ mess this up. It’s open water for miles.”

“You are a shit; do you know that?” she huffed, taking the hand he was offering and stood. He nodded proudly.

The air calmed around them as they made their way back up to the helm, Kharis settling against the pedestal the wheel was attached to, his dagger in one hand and a small chunk of ice in his other. Maryn kept her eyes trained on the horizon until sunrise started peeking over the line between sea and sky, keeping small conversations going when her eyelids got heavy, talking with Kharis about everything and nothing at the same time. They talked about their home countries, their favorite foods from the towns they grew up in, the differences in their beaches, the differences and similarities between their languages—and when the day began to break, the morning breeze never got to her skin, never could get through the heavy blue cloak that sat on her shoulders.


End file.
